


The Night Before

by shireisnotonfire



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, But luckily no, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Could have become noncon real quick, M/M, Modern Royalty, Princess Paulie, Stalking, THIS ISNT REALLY HELLA GRAPHIC VIOLENCE I PROMISE, i just put the archive warning on just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27322549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireisnotonfire/pseuds/shireisnotonfire
Summary: In an alternative universe, John Lennon finds himself mistakenly invited to a Royal Masquerade ball. As he tries to find a way out, John discovers the remarkable talent of a young singer named Paul. But John is not the only one who has his eyes set on Paul tonight…In this story, John saves Paul. But at what cost?? :o_ _ _ _A little spooky story of royalty, Masquerades, stalking, and our two favorite messes, John and Paul.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26
Collections: Halloqueer 2020





	1. Before and After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scythela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scythela/gifts).



**Notes: This first chapter mentions semi (?) graphic depiction of violence. ~~(spoiler: someone breaks someone's wrist)~~ If you do not want to read that, Go down to the "The Next Day"**

**The Following Hours.**

A sweet aroma of lilac, bread, and champagne filled the ballroom hall. Everything was in its exact order as it was before. The tables were in place, the lights were left on. Even the food remained in place. Not a single thing had moved since the night before. It was haunting; it was as if all forms of life had been suddenly snapped from existence. 

Yet what was more haunting was what was happening below. 

Beneath this pristine ballroom was a "questioning chamber". This Kingdom was a ruthless kingdom, which torture was very common. There was a natural rhythm within the torture chamber—pitter-patters from the ceiling, clanging from the chains, the cries of the damned. It was nonsense. It was chaos. Yet, it was almost like a melody. Every chaotic noise folded into one another, creating a masterful tune. There was one, solemn beat tying everything together... and it laid in the interrogator’s hands. It was a silver knife, toying beside the victim’s wrists. It frisked the skin but did not hit the mark—not yet, that was. 

Breathless but with no wonder, John Lennon screamed. His body twisted and turned. But the ropes did not give way. 

The fine blade dangled above his eyes. As a cat would paw at a mouse, the interrogator teased his victim. The mouse would flinch, the cat’s grin widening with every shiver. 

But this mouse would not surrender.

John would not submit. He had every reason to surrender but there was nothing to say. He was innocent, after all, and an innocent man has nothing to apologize for. As John flinched, the man beat him again. John's nose cracked, droplets of blood freckling his cheeks. But John, a battered warrior, did not fall to the ground. If he were to fall, he would not rise again. 

So, John stood. A voice chuckled from above, as it cornered him against the wall. Two hands, calloused and hairy, grabbed his arms.

One of the Royal Guards leaned over John. The room was too dark so John could not see the man, but John knew _of_ him by the scent. _A bunch of rich, overpaid aristocratic bastards,_ thought John, _with a hint of liquor._ As a father does to his disobedient child, the interrogator took John’s chin and drew it towards him. Their eyes met and a grin swirled across the interrogator's face.

His piercing, lifeless eyes left dents in John’s soul. The man’s head twisted as he stared at John, his hand smoothly gliding down John’s neck. It ran along his skin until reaching his wrist, where it seized tightly.

“Precious child, precious, sweet boy, were you not taught to speak the truth?” mocked the voice. Cocking his head, in a swift motion, the man in black twisted John’s wrist. John winced. The interrogator asked of him, “What must one do to the little boys that lie? What must one do to a child that will not obey?”

The grip tightened. John knew.

“I am an innocent man!” cried out John.

“So, you have said,” spoke the interrogator, fastening a rope around John’s wrist. 

“What the fuck have I done? He would have been dead! That singer, that… whoever the fuck he was. I saved his life! God, please don’t do this to me! ” shouted John, ignoring every single ounce to give up, “I am an innocent man, I am an innocent…”

Viciously, the wrist cracked in two. 

Silence. Then, a bleating, relentless scream emerged from John. 

**The ambient music flourished again.**

John’s body began to crumble; yet with the fading strength in his muscles, John did not fall. He was far too clever for it. Street rats were always the hardest to break and John’s unwillingness to submission was like none other. He’d rather die than see someone have control over him. The man studied him intently, searching for one way—one single way this man would succumb and confess. 

As John screamed and held his hand in shuttering pain, the interrogator leaned in, until their foreheads met. A hot, stinging breath hit against John, its stench rotting in his nose. John closed his eyes, but the man’s stare rested intimately against John’s fading spirit.

“I will break every single bone inside of you until you are nothing.” Then, the interrogator’s voice became brittle. The man's grip lessened and his voice continued to shake, “And you will be nothing. I promise you that.”

The mood changed almost instantly. John caught on. _The interrogator was afraid. The damned interrogator was afraid!_ John opened his eyes, lifted his head high, and stared at death. Bearing the explicit pain throughout his whole body, the mouse stared face-to-face with his ultimate demise. John’s nostrils flared, eyes fixated deeply into the man’s pupils. A soft grin rose on John’s blood-splattered face.

“Try me.”

His interrogator was terrified.

“Why?” asked the voice, dropping its intensity, “Why do you persist? Who do you…” 

From the corner came a larger figure. It must've been the lead guard. So much valuable time had been lost on merely threatening this young man—there was more, _much_ more to be accomplished.

A sickening, raspy voice reigned above. “More.”

The interrogator understood. He pulled back his fist and punched John’s eye with nothing held back. Following through the relentless blow, John stumbled and tragically crumbled to the floor. With a mind fading into nothingness, John lost consciousness. 

He closed his eyes for what felt like a blink… but had been much longer than that. 

John was brought out of unconsciousness with a chilling gesture. It was someone new. The old interrogator was gone, but a new man had come. He was cradled in this man's arms. Clutching onto John’s locks, the man propped John by his neck, drawing him closer and closer. In a bleeding heap, John tightened and tightened, trying to pull away, but the man persisted, his face rosy in a tight smile. The cat finally had its prey. As the world faded, the second hand caressed his face. A soft voice leaned in, whispering into his ear.

“Not to worry, Mr. Lennon,” the voice said, and then chuckled ominously, “You won’t kill you like I would kill a sick dog. I am much too creative for that.” 

The hand stroked him once,

twice,

and then, the man took John’s head and drove it to the cement floor.

**The melody ended.**

...

..

.

**The Next Day.**

Lavender plucked John from his sleep. The sweet scent trickled over John’s nostrils, his brown eyes gently rolling as its aroma brought him to life. He wrinkled his nose, then sneezed. 

His eyes opened to a dimly lit ceiling. John’s body was tucked within a plush, enveloping surface. It was a mattress. _Strange._ Shoveled deep between satin cloth, John had to squirm his way out of the blankets. His left arm stretched out of the cocoon. His fingers twiddled in the air, swaying gently as nearby sunlight pieced between them. 

Gently, he pulled out his right arm. 

Pain. Pain rose from his wrists and arrested his whole body, striking throughout his veins as if he were a lightning-struck tree and his veins were roots. John was overcome in merciless agony. He churned and squirmed as the restless rolls wrestled within his limbs. It was the worst pain young John had ever been in. 

That is when the memories came back. _The invitation. The singer and his stalker. The knife. The torture to follow. The wrist… damn it._ He could not recall when his wrist broke in two. 

John had survived. Somehow John received enough grace to survive, but who had saved him? He sat up to find himself in an elegant guest room. Every wall was decorated in grand portraits, jewels, and autographs from near and far. A black bear’s skin laid at the end of the bed, which John instinctively kicked off. The bed he was tucked within was exceptionally large, stretching across nearly half of the room. John found himself in the center of it. 

Heart racing and without any sense of direction, John began to roll out of the bed. Could this have been a sanctuary or just a part of the torture? Either way, John wasn’t willing to remain docile. He crawled out of the bed and reached the edge. Losing balance, John’s arms scrambled, only for the broken hand to refuse to help. John fell completely off the bed, collapsing onto the hardwood floor. 

As he did, John heard the door creak open. Instantly, John’s eyes shot up. 

A shadowy figure stood in the doorway. Because John’s vision was shit, he squinted his eyes. The figure was tall, slender, and wore a long robe. His hair was freshly combed. A variety of jewels, in the shape of a crown, sparkled from his head. There was a gentle smile on the man’s face. As John peered closer, the man’s eyes immediately grabbed John’s memory.

It was the singer from the Masquerade ball. 

The familiar voice softly spoke, **“John, I think I owe you my life.”**


	2. The Best of the Best

**The Night of the Masquerade**

A symphonious melody played overhead as the guests entered the Royal ballroom. The scene was lively, elegant, and beautifully orchestrated by only the best musicians the Kingdom had to offer. Along with their expensive attire, every person had an intricate, delicately sculpted mask on their face. The King had done his best to invite only the most elite to this Hallow’s Eve Masquerade. 

Yet stumbling in at the stroke of midnight was a sight for sore eyes: Pete Shotton and Eric Griffiths. They were street musicians, fresh off of Albert’s Dock in Liverpool, who miraculously received an invitation to the Royal Masquerade. It was a strange invitation, but an invitation that could not be refused. Both men were dressed in their best attempts, but it was fairly easy to pick them out of the crowd.

Straightening his mask, Pete glanced at Eric, mumbling, “Where the fuck is John? He should’ve been here an hour ago.”

As Pete grumbled, Eric scanned across the ballroom. He squinted his eyes, trying to figure out which masked figure could be John. As he looked, he muttered, “John was right. This is a bad idea.” 

“Don’t be such a feckin’ softie,” scoffed Pete, crossing his arms, “We got those invitations, fair-n-square. Royal families don’t just hand out invitations at random, right? There must’ve been some reason we was invited.” 

As Pete spoke, Eric instantly shook his arm. Eric pointed inconspicuously towards the corner. Standing in the corner was a man dressed in all black. He wore a silver mask with soft rhinestones on the edges of it. From his uncomfortable stance and drink in his hand, it was obviously John Lennon.

A devious smirk grew on Pete’s face. He slowly approached John from behind. As John stared elsewhere, Pete snuck behind him. In a low and brutal voice, Pete belted, “Oi, what the fuck do y’think you’re doin’ here?” 

Instantly, John screamed, jumping from his spot in the corner. John’s arms flinched and flailed backward, nearly striking Pete in the stomach. Fortunately, Pete jolted back. As John spun around, his face was white in terror. Once turned around, it took a moment to realize it was Pete and Eric. Flustered, John’s face tightened and became bright red. His fist tightened and quickly hit Pete’s arm. 

“Jesus, Pete!” cried John, still trying to catch his breath. John carefully glanced around and lowered his voice. With a heavy sigh, John muttered, “Could you try to be any less obvious?” 

“What?” laughed Pete, elbowing Eric as he joked with John, “Relax, John! Look, we’ve made it this far!” 

But John, being much more cautious than the others, remained silent in the corner. He straightened his mask and ducked his head down. Avoiding eye contact with anyone, John harshly muttered, “We _obviously_ don’t fit in here. This was a mistake, Pete.” 

“A mistake?” laughed Pete, “C’mon John. Live a little!” As Pete spoke, the music began to heighten. Pete turned his attention towards the front of the ballroom. As the violins began to play intricate arpeggios, a figure stepped onto the polished stage. 

Pete smirked, nudging John and Eric, “C’mon. Let’s see what kind of posh, brown-noser the Royals hire for their music.” 

And with that, both Pete and Eric disappeared into the crowd. At first, John was relieved to have them gone. Now that they were out of sight, John could plan out his escape. Unlike Pete, John wasn’t keen on being at the Masquerade. Aside from his absolute hatred of ballroom dancing, John obviously knew the invite was by mistake. Unfortunately, Pete was tricky enough to convince John to come. 

But now, John could leave without a trace. John took a final sip from his drink, closing his eyes as the delightful liquor slid down his throat. As he did this, the lights began to lower. 

_Perfect,_ thought John, this is _my cue to leave._

John turned his back to leave. But as the lights lowered, the singer stepped into the spotlight. The singer grasped onto the microphone and closed his eyes. As the violins began to gracefully decrescendo, a soft voice echoed around the hall, 

_“There were bells on a hill, but I never heard them ringing.”_

John paused dead in his tracks. His head spun as he faced the singer. He squinted his eyes tightly to desperately see this masked singer. The singer was dressed in a black suit with a sleek, white bowtie. His mask was golden with small antlers like a young deer’s. Beneath the mask was a set of hazel, glimmering eyes. 

John was instantly star-struck. 

_”_ _No, I never heard them at all, 'til there was you.”_

John’s heart began to race. Sweat began to drip from his brow, his hands beginning to shake in his pockets. John clenched his fists in an attempt to remain calm, but he could not take his eyes off the singer. 

Without thinking, John took a step forward. 

And another, and another. 

The singer sang once more with a sweet smile, _“_ _There were birds in the sky, but I never saw them winging. No, I never saw them at all, 'til there was you.”_

The singer’s accent was perplexing. His voice carried such a delicacy to it, but his scouser accent was obvious to the naked ear. John couldn’t help but chuckle at how irresistibly cute that was. 

As John remained dazed at this singer, everything was in motion. Waiters and waitresses scurried along to bring out the champagne, sweets, and delicate bread. The room was brightened with a sheer sense of excitement. At all times, everything was in motion. John observed the walls. Yes, even the curtains seemed to sway. Everything had motion. 

Everything was motion— aside from one thing. Behind John, there was a shadowy figure. Like the others, he was dressed in fine clothing; yet, the man was absolutely still. So still, in fact, that John too stopped moving around. John kept staring at the oddly still man. John didn’t have a clue who this man was, aside from being a very peculiar man. But _something_ did not feel right. Particularly, it was the way the man _stared_ at the singer with such an eerie intent. 

_”_ _Then there was music and wonderful roses. They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows, of dawn and dew.”_

The man stared forward, glaring directly at the singer. John peered closer, noticing something in the man’s hands. As he looked, he noticed a notepad and pen at his hands. John was perplexed, immediately uneasy at this sight. 

The singer’s melody concluded with a sweet refrain, _”There was love all around. But I never heard it singing. No, I never heard it at all, 'til there was you.”_

In a sudden turn of events, the shadowy figure’s face turned directly toward John. His eyes expanded and he stumbled back. John, equally uncomfortable at this, glanced away. But as John glanced back once more, the strange man was nowhere in sight. 

_“’Til,” The singer sang blissfully in a sweet falsetto, ”There was you.”_

...

..

.

**Later in the Evening**

Setting at the edge of the bar, John’s mind was still in awe at the singer’s performance. He had almost completely forgotten about the stalker. His heart couldn’t help but continue beating rapidly, his body still growing in excitement. _Who was this guy? J_ ohn asked himself, desperately trying to figure out the identity of the masked singer. _If he is from Liverpool, surely I know him right?_ John might’ve been a bit pompous in thinking that, but John was always keen on knowing good talent in his city. 

As thoughts raced through his mind, a voice murmured beside John, “What’y drinkin’ there, love?” 

John rolled his eyes. Assuming it was Pete, John muttered, “God, feck off, Pete. I’m tryin’ to think ‘ere.” 

“W-well,” stammered the stranger, chuckling a bit, “Alright then.” 

When the man uncomfortably chuckled, John suddenly realized that this voice wasn’t Pete’s. John’s face went bright red. He swirled his head around to find the masked singer beside him. Perched on a barstool was the young man, appearing just as attractive and fresh as he was on stage. John’s heart fluttered, his mouth gaping open. 

He stammered, “O-oh, s-shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was you.” 

Resting his elbow on the bar and propping his head upon his fist, the singer chuckled and remarked, “Can’t imagine you’d mistake someone else’s voice with mine.” 

Anxiously, John straightened up. He stammered once more, trying to explain himself. But as he did, his words were flustered and tongue-tied. After stuttering for a moment, John composed himself, “I-I just happen to be with some other people from Liverpool. Th-that’s all.” 

“Liverpool?” The singer laughed, “Can’t imagine why the King would invite anyone from Liverpool.”

Taking offense to that, John’s teeth clenched together. With a bite underneath his breath, John hissed, “Well, you’re from Liverpool too, aren’t you? How the hell did you end up getting hired for this gig?” 

A smirk grew on the singer’s face. Even though John couldn’t see most of his face, it was obvious that the singer was a snarky one. He leaned in and giggled, “Well, I’m the _best of the best._ I could be from Antarctica and the King would still hire me.” 

At that, both of the men chuckled. 

“Well, if you’re the best of the best then, what’s your name?”

There was a moment of hesitation on the singer’s face. John could tell that his eyes widened for a moment. A gentle gasp escaped his mouth, but the singer was able to give a prompt-ish reply, “Paul.”

“Ah, yes. Sir Paul of Liverpool.” With a snarky wink, John gave a sarcastic bow. Paul…? John tried to think of any Paul’s he knew of from Liverpool. But without his last name, it was practically a hopeless endeavor. Yet seeing how they just met, John didn’t want to deal with any formalities like last names. 

“And what’s yours, then?” asked Paul, leaning in a bit. 

“John.” 

Paul raised an eyebrow. He pressed further, “John, what?” 

A nervousness ran over John’s body. He glanced away. Remembering where they were, John realized it was best not to reveal his last name. John still was hoping for the chance to escape this Masquerade without any incident. In his nervousness, however, John’s true feelings got into the picture.

“If you’re wanting private information like my last name ‘n all, the least you could do is take me out for dinner.”

As these words left John’s mouth, he froze. _Why the actual fuck did I just say that?_ John glanced up at Paul, desperately trying to retract his words. 

But as he tried to retract his words, Paul spoke up, ”Well being truthful, my schedule’s a bit crowded for the next month. But how about you and I dance for now?”

John could have easily died right there. His mouth gaped open as his heart nearly leaped out of his chest. His hands clammed up as Paul’s sweet and flirtatious face looked at John for a reply. While John was trying to find the right words to say, Paul took hold of John’s hand. The young singer led John Lennon onto the ballroom floor, in the dead center. This was the exact spot that John least wished to be. 

Paul took John’s hand with his left. It was fairly obvious that John was both nervous and inexperienced with dancing, so Paul took the lead. Placing his hand on John’s hip, Paul instructed, “Right then, John-love. Place your hand on my shoulder and follow my lead.” 

Timidly, John nodded and placed his hand on Paul’s shoulder. The two boys were about the same height, John perhaps being a few inches taller at this time. Paul’s feet worked elegantly as the two paced the dancefloor. Yet John stumbled continuously, finding it nearly impossible to lift his feet. Instead, John dragged his feet along the floor. 

In this strange and uncomfortable dance, the two men began to get closer and closer together. As John began to grow his confidence, a sly smile grew on his face. Before Paul could comprehend it, John switched their position. With a bit of a chuckle, John exclaimed, “Right, Paul. I’m leading from ‘ere on out!”

And with that, John spun Paul around the floor. As he did, however, Paul’s mask flung across the dance floor. In that instant, Paul shrieked. Paul released John’s hand and sprinted away.

Losing his footing, John became unbalanced.

“Shit!” yelled John as he slipped and fell to the floor. Immediately, John desperately tried to get up. Once he was able to get on his feet, John glanced around for Paul. Yet everywhere John glanced, Paul was nowhere in sight. Seemingly, this singer had disappeared out of thin air. 

But John, with his heart racing heavier, cried out for all to hear, “Paul!” 

But he was gone.


	3. Paul's True Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter mentions stalking and attempted assault. Fortunately, it is prevented. But this is a warning to anyone. :) You can skip to the next chapter and just know that Paul is okay but just a little traumatized.

**Later in the Evening**

Frantically sprinting down the corridor, Paul did not pause until completely out of sight of the crowd. As he ran, he covered his face with his hands in a desperate attempt to remain anonymous. This was a hopeless attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. For a moment, he leaned against the hallway halls. As he tried to catch a breath of air, his eyes glanced towards the end of the hallway. Standing at the end of the hallway was a shadowy figure. The figure stood with one hand on their hip and the other extended to their side. There was something in the figure’s hand, which gave Paul a nasty feeling. A shiver ran down Paul’s spine and he quickly turned away. 

Changing his course, Paul took a left and ran to the other hall and out through the Palace Garden. It was a familiar path for Paul, so he quickly raced with ease. 

As his feet grew tired, Paul was finally out of sight from the Palace. Panting heavily, Paul finally found a spot to rest outside of the Palace walls. He bent down, inhaling and exhaling heavily in an attempt to catch a breath. With all of that running, Paul found it difficult to orientate himself. His head swirled around, stars beginning to glimmer out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Holy fuck, why did I do that?” muttered Paul to himself, heaving heavily, “God I am stupid. I am so, so stupid to think--” 

But tired beyond repair, Paul couldn’t finish his sentence. With his back bent, Paul took pleasure in the silence around him. He enjoyed it for a moment as he gathered his energy back--

But this was suddenly ripped from him with a steely voice, “Hey kid, y’lost or something?”

Paul jolted his head up. Standing before him was that same shadowy figure. The stalker tucked the notepad into his pocket as he approached Paul. Paul stood up and tried to back away. Yet bumping into a wall, Paul found himself trapped. 

“N-no,” Paul stammered, trying to make up an excuse for this stranger, “I-I was just headed home from the Ball.” 

“That’s strange,” said the stalker as he neared Paul. The moon above revealed a twisted grimace on this man’s face. The grimace slowly grew into a devilish grin. The stalker continued to speak, cocking his head to the side, “I could have sworn that the palace **_is_ **your home.”

Paul began to shake as the man loomed over him. In a swift action, the stalker grasped onto Paul’s waist and thrust him to the wall. Letting out a shrill, Paul stammered, “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about. Would you please let me go?”

“Why would I want to do that?” As one hand firmly pushed Paul’s chest, another hand caressed his side. His hand moved up until reaching Paul’s face. Clutching onto Paul’s cheek, the man spoke villainously, “We haven’t even begun our “fun”, Your Highness.” 

At the sound of that, Paul’s eyes widened. In a frenzy, Paul desperately tried to wrestle out of the man’s grip. Yet this man, being of much greater strength, pushed Paul into the wall once more. Paul’s head abruptly slammed onto the cement wall as the stalker’s hand reached for his pocket. Out of his pocket, the man drew a knife. With a grin, he pointed it right under Paul’s chin. 

Tilting his head once more, the man snarled, “You’re going to do exactly what I ask of you, do you understand?” The man’s second hand then moved from Paul’s chest and to his neck. Seizing his neck, the man leaned in and forcibly kissed Paul. The man withdrew their kiss, a trail of saliva stringing from each other’s lips. He then tightened his grip on Paul’s neck, leaving Paul to do nothing but whimper. 

“Now…” whispered the man, bending towards Paul’s ear, “Where do I begin?”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a war-like yell shrieked from behind the man. Out of the shadow came John Lennon, in full force. In an instant, John gripped onto the stalker’s neck and thrust him off of Paul. Paul, now light-headed from the loss of oxygen, fell to his feet. He clenched his knees tightly to his chest as he frantically stared at the two men.

John managed to knock the man to his feet and stood over him. Viciously, John began to beat the man with his fists. Although the assailant beneath him was of greater strength, John was quicker. Without any weapon, John took off his mask and then proceeded to club the man with it. 

In this time, there was so much rage, chaos, and confusion. Of what John could remember was very little, because shortly within seconds, the palace guards surrounded him. Paul, undoubtedly traumatized, was escorted away as the guards tried to break the fight. Eight hands grabbed John’s every limb in a desperate attempt to pulling him away from the stalker. If they had let him be, the stalker would’ve been beaten to death. 

But in this confusion, it was impossible to tell who it was who tried to hurt Paul. The guards had to ask themselves: _Who was responsible for hurting the prince? Was it the stalker, or was it also John?_ John, eager to defend himself, opened his mouth to tell his story. But before he could say a word, a fist met his vision. 

John was knocked unconscious and tortured that very night. 


	4. To Me

**The Following Day**

Standing before John was the Sovereign Prince, Paul McCartney. In contrast to the night before, Paul was dressed in his princely attire. On his head was a golden crown, embedded with a dozen or so gems. And yet still, there was a gentleness on Paul’s face. John, on the other hand, was crumpled on the floor from falling off the bed. He looked up to Paul in absolute terror. 

John had no idea that Paul was a prince until this very moment. 

Rightfully, John was furious. _Did Paul sentence to have me tortured?_ thought John, still unsure why he had been so ruthlessly beaten. John easily could have chewed out Paul. But instead, John sat up and looked into Paul’s eyes. Softly, he asked Paul, “Are you okay, your Highness?”

Paul’s face remained still for a moment. He looked down at his subject, his face remaining stone-cold. Yet as he looked into John’s eyes, he saw true concern. In an instant, Paul’s face began to twitch. His eyes began to fill with water. Paul then crumbled to his knees and cried out, “Oh God, John. I’m so sorry, I’m so *so* sorry.” 

Bowing his head, Paul wept. As he cried aloud, he trembled and clutched his hands together. *Never* before had Paul been so embarrassed and ashamed in his life. This was one of Paul’s first attempts to blend into the crowd… to be something else instead of a prince. And yet this is how it turned out? 

For a moment, John watched Paul weep. Seeing this young prince become so distraught broke John’s heart, no matter how angry he might’ve been. John slowly moved toward Paul. In a gentle embrace, John clutched onto Paul as Paul continued to weep. John half-expected for Paul to jolt away or push him away; yet instead, Paul leaned into John’s arms and continued to cry.

“John, I am so sorry, I am so fucking sorry,” sobbed Paul, digging his face into John’s chest. John quietly placed his hand on Paul’s head as he continued to cry, “I didn’t know that they would torture you. If I had known, I would’ve told them how you saved me right then and there. B-but I was scared, I was unsure, I…” 

“Your Majesty--”

“Fucking hell, you saved my life and I let you get tortured for it,” Paul clenched his teeth in anger. He slammed his fists down as he continued to blame himself, “How could I have been so selfish? Why was I so late--”

Finally, John put an end to Paul’s apology. He interrupted, “Paul!”

Immediately, Paul stopped. He caught his breath, his shaking beginning to subside. He slowly released John’s shoulders and he looked into John’s eyes. There wasn't a hint of fury in John's eyes. But instead, John looked concerned and lovingly towards Paul. He tilted his head. Puzzled, Paul asked, “What?”

“I forgive you.” 

Paul gasped lightly as he looked at John with sincere surprise. Paul would have never guessed that John would have forgiven him so easily. That surprise turned into gratitude. A smile slowly grew on Paul’s face. His mouth quivered as he answered him, “Y-you sure?”

John nodded, “Of course, Paulie. After all, you are the best of the best.” 

Paul’s face grew red and he glanced away. Stammering a bit, he admitted, “Y’know, I should have never gone in some fictitious disguise. That was stupid of me.”

“You’re right, Paul,” agreed John, with a bit of a smirk, “It was pretty stupid of you.”

A genuine expression of shock spread across Paul’s face. He glanced back up, perplexed by John’s abruptness. 

But John continued, “You don’t have to pretend to be someone you aren’t, Paul. You’re a royal prince, and that’s pretty feckin’ great.” 

At that, both Paul and John chuckled. Paul nodded, using his hand to brush away his tears. John leaned in. Delicately, with his finger, he lifted Paul’s chin. He was careful not to startle Paul, but instead, looked him softly in the eyes. 

John spoke with delicacy, “And you don’t have to be “the best of the best”. You _are_ “the best of the best”. Well, to me, that is.” 

A gentle blush grew on Paul’s face as John said those words. A soft smile grew on John’s face. He slowly leaned in, and with the tenderest peck, John kissed Paul’s forehead and drew him into an embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> out of all the bug bois, Paul is the hardest for me to write. But idk I feel like he would be pretty emotional/apologetic if this happened so yknow yknow yknow. 
> 
> Anyways happy halloweeeeeeennnnn!!! <3


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